


Remember

by themuse123



Category: The Hobbit
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-20 19:37:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 17,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4799747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themuse123/pseuds/themuse123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Each of the dwarves gives their most striking memory of everyone's favorite burglar. Drabble-esque.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ori

Ori still sketched the hobbit even after he was gone. He had dozens of candid pictures of their burglar hidden away in a chest at the foot of his bed. At night he would take them out and look at them, memorize them, and after they had been properly remembered he tucked them gently back into the chest.

Each night this ritual was repeated. Each night he tried to picture the moment as clearly as he could in his head. There was the sketch of Fili and Kili lifting Bilbo onto their shoulders so he could pluck an apple from a tree. There was the one of him sitting at the head of the Company one night, illuminated by the glow of the campfire, everyone laughing as he told them tales of his younger years. (It was that night that they finally learned why he was forever going on about Tooks and Bagginses.)

There was the picture of Bilbo and Thorin smoking their pipes, legs swung over the edge of the Eagles' eyrie after their rescue from the Carrock. He even had a sketch of Bilbo fishing, sitting alone at the edge of a stream near Beorn's garden, looking about as content as Ori had ever seen him. This was quite possibly his favorite picture, but his absolute favorite memory he did not have down on paper, to his everlasting regret.

It wasn't long after they had set off on their quest, just a few days before their run-in with the trolls. They stopped to set up camp in a small clearing as the sun began to set, and though the chance to eat and rest his weary soles usually cheered him, he did not sit by the fire with the other dwarves.

He was a very frustrated young dwarf that day. He had never been much of a fighter, had never had much skill for it and as a result was never given much of a chance. Of course his brothers loved him, and were as devoted to him as he was to them, but they often looked down on him. It wasn't something they did out of meanness, but it rankled when he knew he had just as much of a fighter's spirit as any of the rest of them.

So he wandered away from the Company- not far, mind you, but far enough away for some breathing room. It was there in the woods that he found Mr. Baggins sitting atop a rock, watching the moon rising in the east. The rock wasn't terribly tall but the hobbit's legs still did not touch the ground, and Ori found himself wondering how the gray wizard could ever have picked something so small and fragile for this journey.

And here you are judging someone for not looking the part of a fighter, he thought to himself. Until now, aside from Balin and Bofur, Fili and Kili, none of the dwarves had made much of an effort to accept the little halfling into their group. Perhaps it is my turn.

"Hello, sir," he said, startling Bilbo in spite of his timid voice.

"Oh! Hello, Ori."

"May I sit with you, sir?"

Bilbo smiled kindly at the young dwarf. "Just Bilbo," he said. "And of course." He scooted over to make room for Ori.

"Thank you."

Bilbo's brow furrowed, and he opened and closed his mouth several times before speaking. "You, um, seem rather down, Master Dwarf. I-if you don't mind my saying," he said, catching Ori by surprise. How perceptive this quiet little creature was!

"Actually, I am, Sir Bilbo," Ori confessed, and suddenly all the pent-up frustration of the day came spilling out. Bilbo sat listening, quiet and attentive, while Ori professed his disgruntlement with the other dwarves. It was only by the end of his ranting that he started turning red with embarrassment.

"Oh, goodness, I'm sorry, Sir Bilbo! I didn't mean to whine-"

But Bilbo waved away his distress. "No, don't apologize. I'm just glad you felt you could come to me," he said. Ori didn't miss the twinkle of delight in the hobbit's eyes and he felt warm at the sight.

"And, please, just Bilbo," continued the hobbit. "Sir Bilbo makes me sound like a knight."

Ori giggled. "Alright…Bilbo."

"Right," Bilbo said. Then he paused, a thoughtful look on his face. "So I noticed you carry a slingshot."

"Oh, yes! I'm a fair aim. Not as good as Kili, mind, but he was trained to use a bow. I learned all on my own," Ori said proudly.

The hobbit smiled. "Then why don't you and I have a little target practice? The other dwarves might think it silly, but I think it's sillier still to go armed with nothing."

Ori agreed eagerly, so Bilbo set to work looking for rocks. Once he'd gathered two piles- one for him and one for the dwarf- Ori readied his slingshot and waited for the hobbit to toss one in the air.

They continued in this way for a long while. Ori was pleased to say he hit most of the rocks the hobbit threw, and when he missed it was not by much.

"Well, I'd say you're a more than fair aim, Ori," Bilbo said when they had run out of rocks.

The dwarf ducked his head shyly. "Thank you, s- Bilbo," he said. "Hey, why don't you try it?"

Abruptly the hobbit looked more his fluttery, bewildered self. "O-oh, no, I can't-"

"Please, Master Burglar, all in good fun!"

Bilbo opened his mouth, most likely to object, but something in the dwarf's expression must have won him over because he let out a defeated sigh.

"Yes, alright. Only a few, though. The others are probably missing us."

Eagerly Ori rushed to collect their scattered targets while Bilbo sat on the rock, examining Ori's slingshot. Once he had restored the majority of their collection, the dwarf kneeled and grinned at his new friend.

"When you're ready, Master Hobbit!"

Bilbo sat quietly for another second. Then he wriggled his nose determinedly and nodded to the dwarf…

And hit the rock first try.

Ori blinked but said nothing as he tossed the second one in the air. The hobbit hit this one as well, and the next one, and the one after that. Ori shook his head.

"By my word…you've hit every one!" he said.

"Well, I thought that was the object…" Bilbo said, clearly embarrassed.

"But s- Bilbo, that's amazing! I didn't know hobbits had such aim!"

"Oh, well, I don't know about all hobbits…" he mumbled. It was too dark to tell, but Ori pictured him blushing from head to toe. "And I don't know that it's terribly amazing, for that matter, either, I've just…always had a knack, I suppose."

And so it was that Ori discovered Bilbo's hidden talent, just one among many, for truly Gandalf was right in saying that the hobbit had more to offer than appearances suggested. And though he didn't have a picture of this beloved moment, he still pulled it out to look at every night after he'd put all the other memories back in their chest.


	2. Gloin

Every time he looked at his family, he saw the burglar. Gloin supposed it couldn't be helped. It wasn't simply because the hobbit had become family somewhere along the way on their journey to Erebor. (And really, nothing was ever simple, he had discovered.) It was also because of that night, now several years past.

They had just settled down after another long day and everyone was irritable. They were hungry and their feet were sore and their clothes were still damp from rain the day before. Gloin missed his family terribly. He missed the way his wife's beard glowed honey-golden on a summer day, or the way her blue eyes sparkled with unquenchable mischief. He missed his son's fearlessness and the sound of his laughter.

With a sigh, he reached into his cloak for the portraits he kept of them and tried to imagine what they were doing at that moment.

"Oi! Would you stop mooning around and help us with the firewood?" Nori said, glaring at him from across the camp.

"Alright, alright, give me a moment."

"Mahal, when is he going to tire of those damn pictures?" Nori muttered.

Abruptly, Gloin swelled with rage. "I will never tire of my family," he bellowed, and every head in the Company turned to stare uneasily as he bore down on the younger dwarf. "But of course an unattached dwarf such as yourself would never understand that."

"Stop acting as if you're better than the rest of us. Nothing more than a ball and chain anyway."

"Enough!"

Gloin and Nori flinched as Thorin stepped between them, fixing them each with a menacing stare.

"Nori, gather the firewood. You know perfectly well Gloin has done more than his fair share," he said. "I won't tolerate this kind of in-fighting from anyone, is that understood?"

The two dwarves nodded sullenly and departed with a last glare. But Gloin, not trusting himself to keep his word, settled himself further away from the group than before and once again took out the portraits of his family.

A while later, after everyone had settled around the fire for supper, Gloin heard a light cough to his left. Bilbo stood there with a solemn expression and a bowl of stew in his outstretched hands.

"Ah, thank you, lad," Gloin said, taking the bowl gratefully. He hadn't fancied the idea of turning down a meal but the thought of rejoining the Company that night seemed nearly unbearable.

"I, ah…assume you're not eating with the rest of us?" Bilbo asked.

Gloin grunted and stuffed a spoonful in his mouth as an excuse not to answer.

With a quiet nod, the hobbit turned and left. But a moment later he returned with a bowl of his own and sat purposefully down next to the dwarf.

Gloin couldn't help feeling irritated. What did this little mouse of a creature think he was doing? He wanted to be alone. It seemed noncommittal warning grunts were wasted on the merry folk of the Shire.

Bilbo coughed self-consciously, apparently quite aware of Gloin's frame of mind. "You know, my, uh, my father…he used to show me off to everyone in Hobbiton," he said. "My first memory, in fact, is of my father bragging about me to a fruit merchant. Of course, it didn't take long for me to poke my nose into something I shouldn't…quite literally, I buried my head in a tub of strawberries and knocked the whole crate over."

Gloin's mouth twitched dangerously in the direction of a smile and he quickly smothered it.

"Even now, that merchant won't let me near his strawberries," Bilbo continued with a laugh. "But my dad, he was always proud of me. He put up with the part of me that I got from my mother- the part of me that would say yes to a bunch of dwarves in need of a pocket-sized burglar."

At that, Gloin did smile but he kept it to himself and stuffed another spoonful into his mouth.

"Of course, he's gone now, as is my mother. And…I don't have anyone to be proud of me anymore," the hobbit continued, more thoughtful than somber. "That's not to say I don't have family back in the Shire, it's actually quite extensive. But…no one's carrying my picture around."

In the silence that followed, Gloin couldn't help feeling sorry for the little mite. From his brief time spent with hobbits he got the impression that they were a sociable lot (and more than a bit sheltered). He couldn't imagine feeling alone among relatives. After a moment's hesitation, he handed the locket with the picture of his wife and son to Bilbo.

"That's my wife, Deyna, on the left, and my lad, Gimli, on the right," he said.

Bilbo smiled down at the portraits as though they were long-lost family, and Gloin wondered how this kind and thoughtful creature had become so isolated.

"Your son looks very like you," he said.

"Oh, he takes after his mother, more like. Got her eyes," Gloin said warmly.

"Tell me more about your wife," Bilbo said. "She's, um…bearded as well?"

"Oh, aye. All dwarf maidens have beards." He nudged the hobbit good-naturedly. "Just like all your hobbit women have bearded feet."

Bilbo chuckled. "Yes, they do."

"Ah, but she's wonderful. She really is. She keeps me out of trouble most times, but she also knows when to get into it as well."

"Sounds like our Company could take a few pointers."

Gloin roared with laughter and clapped Bilbo so hard on the back the halfling nearly toppled forward.

"Not like the frolicsome world of the Shire, is it, lad?"

"No," Bilbo admitted. "But I suppose it's worth it, although I do miss second breakfast. And elevenses. And afternoon tea."

"Second breakfast?" Gloin repeated. "Elevenses? Afternoon tea? How many meals do you hobbits eat?"

"Seven, all total," Bilbo said, quite mournfully.

"Seven?" Gloin felt as though he'd just been run over by an errant warg. "Well, no wonder you were reluctant to leave."

"Perhaps someday, when this is all over, you can come visiting. Maybe I can even introduce your wife and young Gimli to second breakfast," the hobbit said. "Of course, I'd have to insist you leave the dishwashing to me this time."

They both laughed at that, Gloin having successfully forgotten about the aches and pains of their travel.

"You know, I fear I'll be quite lonely when I return to the Shire," Bilbo said once their laughter had died down. "All the time I spent alone and I never once felt lonely. But now I'm afraid I might be because…well, I'll be leaving my real family in Erebor."

Bilbo ducked his head as soon as the words were out, as though he were afraid of being ridiculed for them. But Gloin's heart felt torn by a sudden anguish at the realization they conjured.

It had never occurred to him what would come of the hobbit if and after they reclaimed Erebor. It hadn't seemed to matter in the beginning because he had been nothing more than simply the burglar. Now he realized he couldn't imagine their group without him- not simply as a Company, but as the family that had grown out of it.

"Well, we'll visit, like you said!" Gloin finally said, forcing cheer into his voice. "Though I imagine your Shire mates won't like it much if us unsavory characters stay for too long."

"Oh, bebother the hobbits that care a lick too much for their own good. If you all are unsavory characters, then let them call me one too," Bilbo declared.

Gloin ruffled his hair. "Ah, laddie. We'll make a dwarf of you yet!"

They talked late into the night about their families, the differences and similarities between them, and Gloin tried to stave off the growing feeling of dread in his belly.

What were they going to do without their halfling?


	3. Nori

It took little over a day for Fili and Kili to discover Nori's strange habits concerning his pipe weed, and less than that for them to start causing mischief. Oftentimes when he least expected it the sack he carried it in would go missing, and only after he was good and piping hot with rage would the brothers return it to him. Most probably this would have continued all the way to Erebor if not for the hobbit.

Everyone was used to the brothers' game by now, and if they did not necessarily approve they at least tolerated it. Fili and Kili had boundless energy that needed constant dispelling, and most of them were of the mindset that as long as they were bothering someone else it needn't be a problem.

So no one was terribly surprised when, a few days after they had left the eyrie, Nori's pipe weed once again went missing. They were surprised, however, when they woke up the next morning and Nori had acquired both his stolen pipe weed plus two packs extra. They were sitting on top of Nori's other belongings that morning, plain as day in the cheerful sun, and everyone blinked in amazement because the brothers' never simply gave the weed back, and certainly never gave away their own.

"Nori!" Kili gasped. "That's my pipe weed!"

"And mine!" Fili said.

"Aye…" Nori was still staring at the mysteriously returned sacks, wondering if the stories of woodland fairies were true after all.

"How came you by these?" Kili asked. "We had them on watch last night!"

"I didn't take them."

Fili scoffed. "Of course you did."

"I didn't," Nori growled, and no one doubted his sincerity. It was not unknown among the dwarves that Nori was quite sneaky, and it was a testament to Fili's and Kili's hiding skills that he hadn't yet been able to steal back what they stole from him.

Fili and Kili blinked. "But…if you didn't take them, then…who did?" Kili asked.

Everyone looked around at everyone else, each face as flabbergasted as the next. Some wondered if Thorin or Balin had returned Nori's pipe weed to put an end to the prank once and for all, but they denied it. Bombur and Gloin began murmuring of the fairies Nori had begun to think were not simply legend. Kili and Fili even began to wonder if they had sleepwalked in the night and left Nori an early Yule present.

And then Nori's eyes landed on the hobbit, who had remained silent through the whole thing. He was staring down at his furry toes, pursing his lips and wiggling his nose in a manner Nori had grown accustomed to. The halfling was trying not to laugh. It dawned on him then.

"It was you," he said, loud enough to be heard over the din.

Everyone startled out of their own musings.

"Who?"

"What are ye talking about?"

"It was who?"

"The burglar," Nori said, warmth creeping into his tone. Everyone turned to stare at the hobbit, whose cheeks and pointed ears had grown red.

"Bilbo?" Kili said. Nori couldn't decide if it was amazement or betrayal he heard in the young dwarf's voice.

"You took our pipe weed?" Fili said.

Bilbo fidgeted, trying to look properly abashed, but the edge of his mouth was quirking into a smile. "I may have," he replied.

There was a beat of silence.

And then Fili and Kili broke into identical grins and everyone started clamoring around the halfling, laughing and patting him on the back and thanking him for putting the brothers back in their place.

"But how did you do it?" Kili asked once the clamor had died down.

"Well, I'm your burglar."

"But we kept our bags with us at all times last night," Fili protested.

"Well, clearly not at all times…" Bilbo murmured and everyone started laughing again.

Kili grinned at the burglar with curiosity and affection. "Really, Master Boggins, how did you steal it from under our noses?"

And Bilbo grinned brilliantly and said, "I'll give you three guesses."

Nobody tried to guess, of course, because at that point he had filled them in on the story of his harrowing game of riddles with the nightmarish Gollum. The Company accepted defeat. But from that day on, Fili, Kili and Bilbo played their own game of hide-and-seek in which Bilbo would steal something of theirs, and they would try to catch him in the act. To Nori's knowledge, they never did.

Later that night, after Nori had taken the first watch, he sat with his back against a tree and smoked from his pipe. He was only partly surprised when the hobbit came and sat down next to him, smiling contentedly up at the moon.

"Thank you, Master Burglar," Nori finally said.

"Not a problem," Bilbo replied. "But…can I ask…that is, you seem very protective of your pipe weed and I was just wondering-"

"Why?" Nori cut in.

"Well, yes."

The dwarf sighed. "It is a long story, and I don't wish to bore either of us with the details so I will cut to a few key points. I didn't go along with the same thinking of the other dwarves when we were driven to homelessness. I didn't toil and labor in the same way my brothers did. I got what I needed by a less respectable means."

Bilbo caught on quickly. "Ah…burglary, you mean?" he said wryly.

Nori nudged him with a grin. "Aye, but you are of the few respectable burglars in the world. I was not. I became a wanted dwarf very quickly. You see, it wasn't just that I was a criminal, I was…how did they put it? A mouthy criminal."

At this, Bilbo raised an eyebrow. Nori's eyes twinkled. "I have a wee problem with authority," he said.

"Oh. But…you love Thorin."

"Love?" Nori was taken aback that the hobbit used such a powerful word so freely. But the little creature's expression was earnest, and Nori thought to himself that there were indeed different kinds of bravery, little butterfly flashes of courage that were too often lost in the great deeds of powerful heroes. "Aye," he finally said. "Suppose we all do."

Bilbo nodded, lost in thought, but after a moment he seemed to remember himself. "But you have yet to tell me what all this has to do with pipe weed!"

"Well, there isn't much to tell except that I was eventually taken to prison, and my pipe… Well, it kept me dreaming of home and stayed my despair. It was the only thing that carried me through the days…at least, until I figured out a way to escape."

Bilbo's eyes widened. "You escaped?"

"Aye," Nori said with a toothy grin. "But I'll only give you three guesses how."


	4. Dwalin

It took Dwalin the longest to feel comfortable calling the hobbit their own, but when he finally gave in to the feeling it was with a deep and terrible fear he had grown to dread over the years. Was it not exhausting enough to feel protective over Thorin, over all the dwarves of the Company? But a hobbit as well? A soft, excitable, tiny little thing that had never held anything more dangerous than a kitchen knife?

But he had witnessed everything at the Carrock. He saw the halfling's unruly curls shining golden in the firelight. He saw him flailing about with that pathetic letter opener of his, fierce and afraid and eerily magnificent in the eye of impending death. And after that, Dwalin could no longer deny that he had grown to respect and, yes, even to care about, Bilbo Baggins. So he decided, that following morning as the Eagles carried them safely to the eyrie, that he would instruct him in proper fighting techniques.

To his dying breath, the look on the hobbit's face when Dwalin strode up to him a day later and said, "Get up, Master Burglar, it's time you learned to risk your life properly," was one of the most comical things he'd ever witnessed.

"M-me?" the hobbit squeaked. He jumped to his feet and looked back and forth for help, but the rest of the Company seemed just as astonished with this turn of events.

"Aye, laddie," Dwalin said and shifted into a fighting stance. "Draw your weapon."

Bilbo obeyed immediately though he kept up a steady stream of protests. "I really don't think this is necessary, you know, it's not as if you called upon me as the fourteenth warrior," he blustered, fumbling at the hilt of his Elven dagger with trembling fingers.

By my beard! He's looking at me as though I am the Pale Orc himself! Dwalin thought and snorted with exasperation.

"Fourteenth warrior, no, but any who've agreed to this quest know that they will be called upon to fight if need arises," he said out loud. Bilbo opened his mouth but the dwarf did not allow him to speak. "At the Carrock you were brave, aye, but your swordsmanship was pathetic at best. You'll be dead if you keep that up."

Bilbo swelled with indignation, rising to the challenge in Dwalin's voice. "I killed an orc the other night, didn't I?" he said, eyes flashing with the need to prove himself.

"Aye, but you'll listen to me all the same if you know what your life's worth."

The hobbit was silent for a moment, obviously put out but not quite confident enough to do more than glare at the intimidating dwarf. But after a moment he seemed to deflate, and a curious look crossed his face. Looking back now, Dwalin knew it to be guilt.

"Alright," he conceded.

Everyone watched wordlessly as the hobbit faced off against the hulking dwarf, looking comically small in comparison. Dwalin, however, was distressed. It was painfully obvious the halfling had never been in a fight, least not a real fight, before this venture. He held his body awkwardly, self-conscious of their audience or nervous in Dwalin's presence, he couldn't quite tell. His fingers were wrapped so tightly around the hilt of his dagger that his knuckles had gone white.

Dwalin sighed. "Loosen your grip, lad," he said.

Bilbo blinked and looked quizzically down at his hand, but loosened it all the same.

Dwalin nodded. "You must grip it firmly, but not too firmly. You're not trying to choke it."

Bilbo let out a nervous laugh.

"And your stance is terrible. Here."

Dwalin reached out to the hobbit, who tried (and failed) not to flinch away from the looming figure. The dwarf rolled his eyes and muttered, "Mahal, you're jumpier than a spring hare."

To his credit, Bilbo did flash the warrior dwarf an irritated glare.

"Right, now, don't lean forward like that. You should be ready to shift your weight in any given direction, but if you stay on your toes you'll lose your balance. And keep your elbows in. You need to protect your heart so you must try to keep your arms close whenever possible."

The Company watched, fascinated, as Dwalin taught Bilbo how to hold his weapon, how to block an attack, and how to hold his ground. But as the dwarf prepared to move from defensive positioning to offensive, he frowned and shook his head.

"No. No, no, this is all wrong," he said.

Bilbo, winded and sweating, shot the dwarf a confused look. "What's wrong? What did I do?"

"It's not something you did, laddie, it's…you."

"Me?" the hobbit squeaked. "What about me?"

"Well, you look about as fierce as a wee kitten," Dwalin replied.

"Excuse me? A kitten?" Bilbo said and shot a glare in the direction of their audience, all of whom had started snickering. "I am not a kitten!"

"A mouse, then!" Kili hollered and the whole group howled with laughter.

Bilbo huffed. "Well, I'm sorry I don't look the part of a deranged psychopath like some people," he said, eyeing Dwalin, "but I fail to see why I should need to!"

Of course, Dwalin could see the logic in the hobbit's protests. An enemy sizing Bilbo up would see only a meek, unassuming victim, easily dispatched and vulnerable. They would never guess at the great store of courage in the little beast, no matter his insignificant stature.

But another part of him wanted to see something in the hobbit's face, as familiar as Dwalin's own reflection. Because Bilbo was truly a part of the Company now, he had fought for and earned a rightful place in it, and therefore was practically a dwarf himself. And dwarves were, well, fierce.

"I want to show me your war face," Dwalin growled.

Bilbo looked ridiculously flabbergasted. "My-my war face? Mister Dwalin, you've forgotten who you're talking to, haven't you?"

"C'mon, halfling, I know you've got in you. Show me something formidable."

"Okay, this is absolutely absurd, this has nothing to do with fighting-"

"C'mon, Bilbo!" Fili hollered. "Show us!" And then everyone was taking up the cry.

"You can do it!"

"Burglars need to look menacing!"

"Show us how frightful halflings can be!"

"Oh…alright!" Bilbo said. "By my life, I have never been surrounded by such pushy, mulish…"

He let his words drift to incoherent grumbling before looking Dwalin straight in the eyes and setting his jaw. He waited several moments for the hobbit's fearsome expression before realizing that this was the hobbit's fearsome expression.

"That's it?" Dwalin said scornfully.

"You look like you just ate a bad clam," Bofur said.

"You look like you've a stick lodged up your nethers," Kili said.

Bilbo ground his teeth and growled under his breath. "How about this then?" he said and shot a dangerous look in Kili's direction.

Kili grinned. "Like an angry kitten."

They tried for nearly an hour to arrange Bilbo's expression into something ferocious, and while the Company started out trying to offer advice it inevitably turned into a game at Mister Baggins' expense. Whenever he tried fixing his face into a truly bloodthirsty expression, someone would say or do something to make him laugh. Some of them even took wagers on how long it would take for the hobbit to break. It wasn't often long.

And though Dwalin thought it just as amusing as the rest of the dwarves, he knew he'd have to admit defeat. With a sigh, he laid his hands on the halfling's shoulders and shook his head.

"Laddie, you're hopeless," he said, but the warmth in his tone was obvious.

Bilbo said, "Or maybe I'm just a lion disguised as a kitten." Then he scrunched up his nose and squinted his eyes in a glare that was marred by his smile.

Dwalin smiled and pressed his forehead to the Bilbo's. "Aye, lad," he said, and thought perhaps the hobbit had hit the nail right on the head. "And none of us are fooled."


	5. Bombur

Looking back, Bombur supposed Bilbo had been their guiding light through Mirkwood. The only light, really, in that dim, forsaken place. He never thought he could feel more thoroughly miserable than those days they spent wandering the cursed forest, but somehow the hobbit pulled them through. (Dragged them, at some points.)

In fact it was out of this oppressive gloom that came Bombur's most beloved memory of the halfling.

None of them were quite sure how long they had been travelling through the forest. All the days had started blurring together under the stifling weight of the place. They could only really agree that they were far, far deeper into Mirkwood than any of them wanted to be, and the tricky, curling path they were following seemed to be of the mind that they should wander forever. Bombur himself had only started counting the days after he'd discovered their supply of food had run out. It had been three since then, and tomorrow would be their fourth, and everyone was starting to feel as though their stomachs had been lined with razors and their brains lined with fluff.

It was Bilbo's keen eyes that saw the bird first, and if it weren't for Thorin's commanding stare he would've been hard-pressed to keep the rest of the Company quiet as they snuck toward the tree where it nested.

It was a huge bird, of a kind they had never seen the likes of before. Bombur's mouth began to water at the thought of such a bird roasting over the fire, dripping fat, its skin nice and crunchy and darkened to a tawny glaze…

"Bombur, you're drooling on my shoulder!" Bofur hissed.

Bombur jolted out of his sultry musings and tried to control himself as Kili, Fili, Bilbo and Thorin took the lead. With a quiet nod from Thorin, Kili pulled out his bow and started creeping to the side for a better angle. Everyone held their breath. Bombur hoped to Mahal his stomach wouldn't pick this inopportune moment to start making whale sounds.

Of course Kili, for all his youth and energy, was just as spent as the rest of them, clumsy from hunger and lack of sleep. As he was skirting around the bird's tree he caught his ankle on a protruding root and stumbled, letting go of the bow and arrow to catch himself. Startled by the noise, the bird woke and made to fly away.

What happened next Bombur nearly convinced himself was an authentic Mirkwood mind trick.

Quick as a wink, Bilbo snatched up Kili's bow, knocked the arrow and let fly. The bird dropped like a stone into the undergrowth, and though everyone stood there for a long moment, certain this was some kind of waking dream, the bird did not get up.

Finally, with a startled glance at the hobbit, who looked equally as startled back, Kili and Fili rushed to the felled bird.

"By my beard!" Fili exclaimed. "Bilbo! You got it right through the eye!"

Bilbo blinked. "I…I did?" he said.

The two brothers held up the bird, and sure as sunshine in May the arrow ran straight through the strange bird's eye. The brothers grinned at the hobbit, who looked as though he'd just been told he could start eating seven meals a day again.

Bombur was the first of the rest of the Company to break from their shock and trap the little hobbit in a crushing bear hug. He swung Bilbo around like a ragdoll, ignoring his squirms and protests. And soon it was not just Bombur. Bilbo found himself squashed in an enormous group hug as the all the dwarves professed their undying gratitude for the hobbit who had once again saved their skins.

Though they had refrained from building too many fires in case of unfriendly eyes, Thorin declared it safe for that night. Gloin and Ori set to work gathering fuel while Kili and Fili showed a less than enthusiastic Bilbo how to skin the bird.

"You see, you take the knife and slit it open from here to here," Fili was demonstrating.

Bilbo nodded but his face had paled and he looked as though he were about to be sick.

"Is that any way to treat the hero of this day, but making him gut a bird?" Bombur said, plopping down next to the hobbit. Bilbo shot him a grateful glance. The dwarf smiled back and jabbed him with an elbow. "Personally I'd like to hear where our hobbit learned to shoot a bow."

"Yes," Thorin said, "I'd like to hear this as well."

Bilbo flushed red from head to toe. "Oh, I didn't," he said. "It was just…luck, I suppose."

"Luck?" Kili repeated in disgust. "You're telling me that I wasted a good portion of my childhood learning to shoot a bow when all I needed was luck?"

"No, no! Of course not. I-"

"Bilbo can use a slingshot," Ori piped up, "and throw stones like a marksman."

Thorin raised an eyebrow. At this point everyone was listening. "Is this true?" he asked.

"Yes," Bilbo admitted. "When I was a fauntling, I'd go out in the woods and build my own slingshots and skip stones down at the Brandywine. I used to spend hours out there- setting up targets, picking out the right stones… One time I even stole some of my mother's dishes to use as clay pigeons. My father had my hide for that little stunt."

Fili nudged his brother. "And he yells at us for throwing his mother's dishes…"

"Yes, because I was worried my father would rise from the grave and bludgeon us all!"

Everyone laughed, though the sound fell flat in the grim Mirkwood air.

"I've a fair aim," Bilbo continued. "But bows and arrows? I've never held one until this day. So yes, partly it was luck."

"And what wonderful luck you bring, Master Baggins!" Bombur said, throwing his arm cheerfully around the hobbit.

He was the center of attention that night while they feasted on a strange bird in a strange land. They listened to him tell more stories of his childhood, laughing when they realized that Bilbo Baggins had indeed been born for adventures, whatever else he might claim to the contrary. It seemed he had always meant to be their lucky aim, their guiding light.

Their sleep that night was pervaded by strange and unsettling dreams which all of them would blame later on the bird. But everyone agreed it was a small price to pay.


	6. Bifur

Bifur wasn't so gone "between the eyes", as they said, to know there was something wrong with him. He saw the strange looks cast his way, the way folks shied away from him. He took it in stride, quite proud of the axe he wore in his head. This was his trophy, a warning to those who came near that he was indeed a fighter.

No, it was never the looks that bothered him. It was the way no one (aside from Gandalf, Thorin, Bofur and Bombur) thought to learn his way of speaking. Most just patted him on the back and shook their heads because he was just crazy old Bifur. But none of them stopped to wonder what it was he was trying to say. Until, of course, he started howling at the moon.

They were stopped at Beorn's house. It had been three days since their arrival. He still remembered this evening with perfect clarity; of all the memories he had gathered on their journey, it was this one that made him the happiest.

Everything about that day had been beautiful, as it always seemed to be at Beorn's home. There had once again been a great spread at breakfast, and the whole Company was in high spirits, outside and enjoying the warmth of the day.

The hobbit was the only one missing from the group. Bifur spotted him wandering slowly through Beorn's garden, hands clasped behind his back, watching the wind playing through the branches of the trees.

Bifur was distressed. He had watched silently as Bilbo was inducted into the group, the trial period he had fought so hard to get through, and Bifur had been ecstatic to see the hobbit finally triumph. He had finally made himself a little place amongst them. So why was he not sharing in the joy of their tiny holiday? And why had nobody noticed?

The dwarf got to his feet and approached the hobbit, who had stopped to pick something up in the garden. Bifur grumbled unintelligibly and made the symbol for hello.

Bilbo very nearly jumped out of his skin. "Bifur!" he exclaimed. "Mahal, you scared me!"

The hobbit then proceeded to look very uncomfortable, running his hand along the back of his neck and shifting his large, furry feet.

"Er, um, that was just something I picked up…I think I heard Thorin say it. I, uh, don't mean any disrespect, of course-"

Bifur snorted. The hobbit was being quite ridiculous and he told him so.

Of course, not in so many words. Bilbo blinked at the dwarf in utter confusion.

"Uhm…I'm sorry, but I don't understand."

Bifur's face fell. Bilbo read his disappointment easily enough. With an encouraging smile, he reached out and patted the dwarf's shoulder.

"Here, sit down," the hobbit instructed. Curious, Bifur did so and Bilbo sat across from him. "Now tell me again what you are trying to say."

Bifur understood immediately and started bouncing with excitement. He repeated his statement from before and Bilbo nodded.

"O-okay, great," he said. "Now, say it again but…perhaps more slowly."

The dwarf nodded and made the symbol for "I". Then he pointed to himself, and then to his eyes.

"Your eyes?"

Bifur shook his head. Again he made the symbol for "I", and again he pointed first to himself and then his eyes.

"Eye…oh! I! As in, you?"

Clever hobbit! he thought, nodding vigorously. Bilbo smiled, looking quite pleased with himself, and motioned for Bifur to continue.

The dwarf made the symbol for "think" next and then pointed to his head.

"I…hair? Head? …Think! I think!"

The hobbit really was quite good at riddles. It wasn't long before Bilbo had reached the end of the sentence.

"I think you are…silly?"

Bifur let out an excited growl and clapped his hands repeatedly.

"Silly!" Bilbo pretended to be hurt, but Bifur saw the gleam of laughter in his eyes. "I'm not silly, I'm a Baggins. Quite respectable."

Silly hobbit, Bifur signed.

Bilbo frowned. "What was that? Silly…?"

Bifur repeated the word patiently and then pointed to Bilbo.

"Silly hobbit?"

The dwarf nodded, quite ecstatic. Bilbo was catching on more quickly than anyone, except perhaps Bofur. Quickly he made the symbol for "more", and though Bilbo didn't try to guess the word he did guess Bifur's intentions.

"Alright, then, tell me why I'm a silly hobbit," he said.

And it turned into a game that lasted the whole day. Bifur rambled on and on, teaching Bilbo every symbol he had come up with, and Bilbo didn't seem to tire of it.

Kind hobbit, Bifur thought and decided to introduce Bilbo to a most important word. He reached out and pressed his palm to Bilbo's chest, then pressed it to his own.

Bilbo blinked. "What's that?"

Bifur pointed to Fili and Kili, who were having quite a laugh at something Nori said. Then he repeated the gesture from before.

"Brother?" Bilbo guessed.

The dwarf nodded and made the symbol for "you", followed quickly by "brother". Bilbo's eyes widened with surprise.

"Thank you," he whispered. Then, hesitantly, he pressed his own palm to Bifur's chest and then to his own. "Brother."

That was when the wolves started howling. Twilight had descended and Bilbo looked so startled Bifur almost laughed. Instead he grunted and told him not to be afraid, and then he lifted his head and let out a great howl.

"Bifur!" Bilbo exclaimed. "What are you doing?"

Talking with wolves, he signed. Won't come near if Bifur's around.

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. "Why's that?"

Bifur told him.

"Wolves won't come around because they're…" Before he could finish, Bilbo started laughing. "Right scared prats!"

Bifur nodded fervently. Then he crouched on his hands and knees and howled once more while Bilbo tried to control his giggles.

After a moment, the wolves howled back, further away than before. Barely able to contain his excitement, Bifur elbowed Bilbo in the ribs and mimed howling again.

"What, me?" Bilbo said.

Howl, Bifur signed. Tell wolves they're prats. 

The hobbit (unsuccessfully) bit back a snort. "Well, a respectable Baggins would never partake in such activities," he said, and waited until Bifur's face fell before grinning in such a devious way he could have only picked it up from Fili and Kili. "But then again, I'm not all Baggins, am I?"

So Bilbo crouched down on all fours with Bifur, lifted his head, and let out a most un-Baggins-like howl. And when Fili and Kili and the rest of the Company wandered over to see what in Mahal's name was going on, Bilbo turned and said, "We're letting the wolves know they're prats!"

After that, neither Bifur nor Bilbo could hear wolves howling without falling back and laughing together.


	7. Bofur

Bofur had never tried his hand at writing songs until the reclaiming of Erebor, but after the Battle of the Five Armies he wrote tirelessly.

Some of them weren't great, but a few were terribly good. He shared these ones only with the other dwarves from the Company. There were some things you just couldn't share with anyone else but family and besides, who else would know what they were truly about? Who else would remember the moon on the little halfling's face, his eyes closed as though he saw another world behind those lids, the outline of his throat in silver?

It was their last night at Beorn's house, and though everyone was anxious to get back on the road, they were a bit reluctant to leave. Mostly for the food, but also because they knew they would soon be entering Mirkwood, and their store of good cheer would run empty.

After dinner, the whole troop of dwarves (each with their own pint of mead) marched outside and sat in a circle beneath the full moon, with their burglar in tow. There was a brief scuffle between Fili and Kili and Bifur over who the burglar would sit with. Apparently Bilbo had been in the middle of a side-splitting tale from his youth, which ended with him accidentally tearing a lady's dress off, and the brothers wanted to hear the rest. But Bifur had been particularly possessive of his new friend ever since the wolf incident and tugged insistently on Bilbo's arm, urging the hobbit to sit with him and Bofur.

"Come on, Bifur, let's not break our burglar," Bofur said and pried his cousin from Bilbo, who had begun to look quite alarmed by the whole development.

The hobbit shot him a grateful look and then said, "I'll sit with you, Bifur. I'm sure Fili and Kili can survive without my embarrassing stories for one night."

The brothers threw him identical looks of anguish.

"But we can't!"

"We'll die if we don't hear the end!"

Then they gave him their best pleading expressions, widening their eyes like hopeful puppies. Bilbo raised an eyebrow disdainfully but in the end he just couldn't keep a straight face.

"Oh, fine, fine!" he finally said. The brothers bumped shoulders and exchanged triumphant grins. "I'll sit between you two and Bifur and finish my mortifying story. There. Is everyone happy?"

Thorin, who had witnessed the whole exchange, shook his head. "You have a soft heart, Master Baggins," he said.

Bilbo snorted. "I don't! It's made of iron- cold and unbreakable!"

Everyone howled with laughter, even their king. Bilbo pursed his lips and waited in quiet disgruntlement for the noise to die off.

Bofur didn't mean to disappoint him.

"Oh, Baggins with the heart of stone,

he had not one ferocious bone,

and if he tells you otherwise

just tell him you've no time for lies.

He's got a knife tucked in his belt,

but couldn't even leave a welt.

He'll tell an orc 'prepare to die!'

but wouldn't even hurt a fly."

It wasn't his best composition admittedly, but it made the other dwarves laugh. Bilbo, however, gaped at Bofur with the deepest expression of betrayal.

"Now, honestly! Is this really necessary-"

But suddenly everyone was taking up the song.

"Oh, Baggins with the heart of stone,

he had not one ferocious bone,

and if he tells you otherwise

just tell him you've no time for lies!"

"Oh, yes. Great. Absolutely hilarious," Bilbo said flatly.

"We're just having a little fun, Master Boggins," Kili teased, patting the hobbit on the head.

"Yes, but must it always be at my expense? Really, this makes twosongs now."

"Come, everyone! Let's hear another song before Master Grumpy gets really upset!"

And so they began to sing, taking the lead from Bofur most times. They sang loudly and boisterously, disturbing the night creatures in the forest beyond and causing Beorn to cast them dark looks from out of his window. Bilbo sat and listened- smiling at the fools they were making of themselves, laughing when the lyrics were particularly funny, and trying not to get caught in one of Fili or Kili's exuberant embraces.

Once they had gone through about a dozen songs, Balin smiled sympathetically across the circle at Bilbo.

"Sorry, laddie. I'm sure this must dredge up unpleasant memories from our dinner party."

"No, no, actually I quite enjoy it," Bilbo said. "I mean, they are admittedly dwarf songs so I know nothing about them but we hobbits do like our songs."

"Well, let us hear one," Fili said.

"Yeah!"

"Sing us a party song!"

"I've never heard a hobbit song before!"

"Of course you haven't, Ori."

Bilbo looked absolutely horrified. "No, please, I don't think…I don't think I've any songs a company of dwarves would find appealing anyway…" he said.

"Aw, c'mon, Bilbo!"

"We want to hear them!"

"Aye, family shares songs."

This came from Gloin, and he and Bilbo exchanged a long glance before Bilbo sighed.

"Al-alright. But you must forgive me if I sound a bit…rusty. I haven't sung in a while."

Everyone quieted, staring intently at the hobbit while he gathered himself. Bofur felt a quiver of excitement in his belly as Bilbo closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and began.

"The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began. 

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with weary feet,

Until it joins some larger way,

Where many paths and errands meet.

And whither then? I cannot say."

There was silence after he had finished, and it stretched on so long that eventually Bilbo's eyes flashed open and he looked quickly from side to side before ducking his head.

"Well, there you go. It's not terribly great, but-"

"Not great?" Dori exclaimed. "Master Hobbit, I don't believe I've ever heard a more beautiful voice."

Bilbo stared at him. "…You're joking," he said.

But no one laughed. They were all staring at him as though he'd transformed into some kind of cherub, and indeed he looked quite otherworldly with the light of the moon and the last echo of his voice in their ears.

"You sing like a bird, Master Baggins," Bofur said softly.

A shy smile brightened the halfling's face. "Really?"

"Really."

"Sing another!" Kili said.

This time Bilbo gladly obliged, although this song was even more melancholy than the first and covered Bofur's skin in goosebumps.

"Home is behind, the world ahead,

And there are many paths to tread

Through shadows to the edge of night,

Until the stars are all alight.

Then world behind and home ahead,

We'll wander back to home and bed."

"Hobbit songs are so sad," Kili remarked when Bilbo had finished.

"I thought you halflings were a cheery bunch," Gloin said.

"Actually…those are my songs," Bilbo said. "I came up with them."

Bofur blinked. "You did?"

"Yes. I wanted to document our journey somehow, but it's surprisingly difficult to keep paper out of harm's way on the road. I don't know how Ori does it."

"But your songs are so solemn," Thorin said, clearly troubled.

"Perhaps," Bilbo said slowly. "But a solemn song got me out here in the first place. It was one of the reasons I ran out that door all those months ago. I feel…compelled by these songs."

And though there was a part of Bofur's heart that hurt to know he had dragged the halfling into such a solemn world, he was also glad. Bilbo had so much light to give to the world, but no one ever would have discovered it if he'd remained safe in his hobbit hole.

The Company continued singing (and teaching Bilbo every song so they could hear it in his sweet, warbling voice) until their throats were hoarse and their eyes heavy with sleep. Bofur knew they would soon ensnare themselves in the tangled darkness that had once been Greenwood, but the notion didn't bring with it the same kind of dread it had before. As he lay in bed that night and slipped toward unconsciousness, he hummed to himself that the Road went ever on and on. They would pursue it with weary feet in the morning.


	8. Oin

It seemed that of the rest of the dwarves, only Oin and Fili really knew how severe Kili's wound was. Of course, the young dwarf was exceptionally talented at acting tough, something Oin thought he had most probably picked up from his uncle. Still, it did not help the situation at all when Kili refused to admit the wound was not healing.

"I'm fine," he said gruffly when Oin once again offered to take a closer look.

"Listen here, laddie, if you don't let me help you it could get infected," Oin growled.

"I said I'm fine," Kili replied. "I just need sleep. Let me rest."

The young dwarf leaned back in the cot that Bard had loaned him and closed his eyes obstinately. Oin snorted and marched out of the room. If the silly idiot wanted an infection, he could damn well get one!

Fili met him as he walked out. "How is he?" he asked.

"Stubborn as a mountain ram," Oin said, shaking his head. "I think the wound is infected but he won't allow me a proper look."

Fili fidgeted anxiously, glancing back and forth between the door to Kili's room and Thorin, who had gathered in a secluded corner of the lake house with Balin, Dwalin and Gloin.

"Look, Thorin wants to discuss what to do about our weapon situation. Please keep an eye on my brother for me," he said.

"Yes, yes, of course," Oin said irritably, though his heart went out to the young dwarf, who scuttled away quickly as though he were afraid he'd change his mind and spend the rest of his time at his brother's bedside.

Oin busied himself with a few things before looking in on Kili to give the lad a chance to fall asleep. He had planned to sneak in then and have a look at the wound, which he knew would be undeniably not fine, and proceed from there. But when he finally arose to carry out this plan, he was surprised to find someone else had beaten him to it.

Bilbo was scurrying about the room- mixing some kind of paste in a bowl, placing a wet cloth on Kili's clammy forehead, and carefully unwrapping the darkened fabric around the wound. Oin couldn't see the wound clearly from where he was peeking through the door, but he saw Bilbo's face go ashen at the sight.

"Oh, Kili…" the hobbit breathed. "You really got yourself into it this time."

Then he took a deep breath, steeling himself, and dipped his fingers into the bowl. Oin couldn't tell what the mixture was, but it was thick and golden, as if someone had turned the sun into jam.

"Alright, this is only going to hurt for a moment," Bilbo murmured before setting his jaw and dabbing the mixture onto Kili's leg.

The hobbit flinched as Kili let out a loud groan, but continued to apply the sun jam until the bowl was empty. Then as quickly as he could, he wrapped the wound with a new, clean rag.

"I'm so sorry," Bilbo said. Gently he wiped the sweat from the dwarf's face with the rag, murmuring something in a low voice that Oin could not pick up.

He could see, however, that Kili was in the throes of a nightmare, moaning and muttering in his sleep, a frustrated dent between his brows.

"Shhh," Bilbo said and began rubbing his hand over the dwarf's chest in soothing circles. And then, low and slow, he began to sing.

"Far over the misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep and caverns old

We must away ere break of day

To seek the pale enchanted gold.

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,

While hammers fell like ringing bells

In places deep, where dark things sleep,

In hollow halls beneath the fells.

For ancient king and elvish lord

There many a gleaming golden hoard

They shaped and wrought, and light they caught

To hide in gems on hilt of sword.

On silver necklaces they strung

The flowering stars, on crowns they hung

The dragon fire, in twisted wire

They meshed the light of moon and sun.

Far over the misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep and caverns old

We must away ere break of day

To claim our long-forgotten gold."

Kili stilled as Bilbo crooned his somber lullaby, and Oin's heart grew quiet for a moment. He hadn't a clue when Bilbo had learned the words to the song, he only knew that in his voice it took on an entirely new emotion.

Hope.

He waited outside for Bilbo, replaying the song in his head. When the hobbit finally emerged, it was with an empty bowl and the old, filthy rag which had previously bound Kili's leg.

"How is he?" Oin rumbled.

Bilbo tried not to act surprised by the old dwarf's presence. "As well as can be," he said. "That wound is…infected."

"I saw you put something on it. Was it a poultice?"

"Oh, it's a healing salve we use back in the Shire. Just honey and curcumin, a root that grows in those parts. Mind, we don't use it very often. Not many battle wounds back in Hobbiton. But we hobbits swear by it."

Oin nodded quietly, stowing the mixture away for future use. Bilbo cleared his throat as the silence wore on, clearly uncomfortable at having been caught.

"Will you, uh, tell me when he's awake? I wanted to take him some tea."

"Of course, lad."

The hobbit scurried away but Oin remained leaning against the wall, singing low and out of tune under his breath.

"Far over the misty mountains grim

To dungeons deep and caverns dim

We must away ere break of day

To win our harps and gold for him."


	9. Dori

There was a great celebration the night after the Master officially welcomed the dwarves to Lake-town. Men and dwarves alike sang and drank and feasted (as much as could be allowed, given the scarce conditions of the oncoming winter).

They were moved from Bard's house to the town's most prestigious inn, which was really only prestigious in comparison to the rest of the buildings on the lake. Still, all parties involved seemed grateful for the arrangement, as the feeling of enmity between Bard and the dwarves seemed only to grow.

Dori had a mug of ale but cut himself off after that, too busy chasing after Nori (who was stealing silverware) and Ori (who was stealing food) to bother with getting drunk himself. In fact most of the dwarves were feeling a bit tipsy. Their raucous group had gathered on the top floor for their own private celebration, and many flagons of ale and mead and wine were passed around.

Of course Dori hadn't thought to keep an eye on the hobbit. Sure, it had been mentioned that hobbits liked parties but he never in his wildest imaginings thought he'd see Bilbo Baggins climbing clumsily onto a table and bursting into song.

"The King beneath the mountains,

The King of carven stone,

The lord of silver fountains

Shall come into his own.

His crown shall be upholden,

His harp shall be restrung,

His halls shall echo golden

To songs of yore re-sung."

Everyone stared, startled out of their festivities by the sheer absurdity of it. Of course Bilbo's voice was uninhibited, liquid silver (although he slurred a few words) but to see him standing atop a table, belting out the lake people's song at the top of his little lungs…

"That was dedicated from the people of Lake-town to you, Thorin Oakenshield" he said once he'd finished the song. "Through me, Bilbo Baggins."

Kili and Fili snorted under their breath, but to their credit they tried to hide it behind their mugs. Some of the other dwarves, however, were not so considerate. Nori and Gloin in particular could not control their laughter and leaned on each other for support.

"C'mon, Master Baggins, let us help you down," Fili said, his voice quavering with barely suppressed amusement. Then he and his brother hooked their arms under Bilbo's and carried him from the table.

"Whoa, hey, you-" Bilbo jabbed his finger into Kili's chest- "should be in bed resting. All you dwarves are annoyingly…maddeningly…hair-pullingly stubborn and I…if I were an elf, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't invite you to dinner."

"That's alright, we wouldn't want to go anyway," Fili said, catching the hobbit as he wavered.

"Yeah, that's right, because…you guys are only interested in destroying hobbit-hic!-holes."

"Mahal, he's blitzed," Kili murmured to Dori as the little fellow began to hiccup. "I didn't think hobbits got drunk."

"Well…these lake-men drink strong brews. I imagine he's not used to it, and he's so tiny it really wouldn't take much anyway."

"He's not going to be happy in the morning," Kili stated and Dori shook his head. No, the hobbit certainly would not be happy in the morning, not only with the way he was carrying on now, but with the inevitable pounding in his head and roiling in his stomach.

I should gather up some helpful teas tonight, he thought to himself. I believe I have several that are good for a hangover.

By that point, the hobbit had tugged himself out of Fili's grip and made his way over to Thorin, who raised an eyebrow expectantly. His expression was perfectly smooth, but Dori could see well enough the mischief warming his eyes.

"Well, Master Hobbit?" he said. "Is there something on your mind?"

"Thorin. I have something I want to say to you," Bilbo declared, glaring determinedly at the dwarf king.

"Well, don't hold back."

"I don't know if you know this…" Bilbo paused to peer at Thorin through narrowed eyes, swaying where he stood. "…but when I first met you, I thought you were an absolute prat."

There were several gasps of horror as everyone in the room tensed and prepared to throw themselves between the king and the hobbit.

To everyone's surprise, however, Thorin simply cocked his head and said, "Fair enough, halfling, when I first met you, I thought you were a dainty, insolent elf-lover."

Bilbo narrowed his eyes even further, like he couldn't believe anyone could think that of him.

"But it's alright because misconceptions were made to be broken."

"Actually, sometimes I still think you can be kind of a- hic!- prat."

There was a moment of silence in which Thorin stared at the hobbit, who didn't seem to think he was begin an insolent elf-lover at all. Dori's heart pounded in his chest as all of them anxiously awaited Thorin's response. And then suddenly the dwarf king bowed his head and began shaking with violent tremors. It took everyone a moment to realize that the convulsions were laughter.

"Then," he said once he could speak again, "let me formally apologize. Master Baggins, I am sorry for being a prat and for thinking of you as nothing more than a dainty, insolent elf-lover."

Bilbo waved away his apology, sloshing mead out of a mug that was much too big for him. "No, no need for- hic!- sorry's. I know you're only a prat because you have to look out for the rest of us. And also I think there might be a dragon involved. But you are also the- hic!- bravest person I've ever known and even though I'm not a- hic!- dwarf, I am proud to call you my king."

And then they were all witness to Thorin's expression, which softened with undisguised affection and gratitude and which he generally only saved for his nephews. And Dori couldn't help but feel moved by the sight. The hobbit seemed completely oblivious as he patted Thorin's shoulder and shuffled away, muttering something about taking a quick cat nap.

In fact when he looked back years later, Dori realized that Bilbo had always been oblivious to the effect he'd had on the Company. There was a reason Gandalf had chosen Master Baggins, and not just he was small and sneaky and quite a bit braver than he looked. There was a magnetism about him, a quieter charisma than that of their leader but just as powerful. If the Company had made him stronger by making him tough, then he had made them stronger through the greatest magic trick of all. Because of him they were a little bit softer, a little bit kinder, and Dori blessed the wizard who coerced the little fellow into running after them so long ago.

The following morning, Dori was the first one up. He busied himself with brewing tea for the other dwarves, who were slow to rise and scowled at the sun as though it had personally aggrieved them.

Bilbo was the last to wake, and when he did everyone forgot their own discomfort and started grinning.

"Feeling alright there, Master Boggins?" Kili teased as the hobbit stumbled into the kitchen. His hair was a wayward mess and the clothes he'd worn the night before were rumpled in such a way that he looked even smaller than ever. Dori shook his head and clucked sympathetically.

"You look a bit uncomfortable, laddie," Dwalin said. "Rough night?"

Everyone laughed. Bilbo groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers.

"Is the noise really necessary?" he croaked. "I feel like I've been trampled by a pack of wargs."

"Aye. It's called a hangover," Dwalin said.

Bilbo glared at him and swung around to retort, but the motion made his face pinch with pain and he said nothing.

Dori patted him lightly on the shoulder. "Drink this, Mister Baggins. It will help," he said and handed the poor bleary mite a cup of his strongest brew.

"Thanks," he rasped. After taking a tentative sip he drank it quite greedily, much to Dori's satisfaction.

The halfling had gone through three cups and was working on his fourth when Thorin came over.

"How are you feeling?" he rumbled quietly. Dori pretended to be busy with something else, unable to ignore the unusual gentleness in the king's voice.

"Better, thanks to Dori's tea," Bilbo admitted. "Um…Thorin? I don't really, uh, remember last night. Did I…was I terribly obnoxious?"

"Master Baggins, you are never obnoxious. But you were quite entertaining."

Dori saw Bilbo's cheeks redden from the corner of his eye.

"Oh, well, as long as you all got a nice laugh out of it."

"Don't worry, we did," Fili quipped and Thorin chuckled.

"Relax and drink your tea. It won't be long before we leave for the mountain."

Dori took care of him for the rest of the day, brewing tea and forcing him to eat. Bilbo took everyone's snickering in stride but he could not for the life of him figure out why they had started calling him elf-lover.

"As if it's some kind of insult," Bilbo muttered as Dori poured him another cup of tea.

Dori smiled fondly. "Don't worry, Mister Baggins," he said. "When it comes to you, it's anything but an insult."


	10. Balin

Balin still had nightmares about the dragon-sickness. Sometimes when he closed his eyes he still saw the cold remoteness in their king's face, saw him adorned with furs and jewels like some sanctimonious god, heard the dragon creeping through his breath like smoke. But the worst were the nightmares from that morning at the Gate, the prelude to the Battle, when Bilbo declared that he had been the one to take the Arkenstone.

Of course in his nightmares, Thorin always succeeded in throwing him over the edge. And Balin was always forced to watch as the hobbit's fragile body broke on the rocks below.

But although this memory haunted his dreams, it was not the first one he thought of when he remembered their hobbit.

He had gone off alone after his council with Thorin because he couldn't bear to let the rest of the Company see just how shaken he really was. The sickness had spread much further and faster than he had anticipated, and it seemed that the king who had earned their devotion, their trust, their love, had been thoroughly corrupted.

Bilbo, of course, could always be counted upon. For one who claimed to want a peaceful life, he always seemed to be right at the center of things.

Struggling to regain his composure, Balin said, "Dragon-sickness. I've seen it before. That look…the terrible need…it is a fierce and jealous love, Bilbo. It sent his grandfather mad."

Bilbo stepped toward him, having apparently come to a decision.

"Balin…" he began. "If Thorin had the Arkenstone…" He paused to give Balin a meaningful look, and Balin suddenly grew very still.

"If it was found…would it help…?" The hobbit trailed off, as though he couldn't bring himself to finish.

Balin hesitated for a moment, caught between fear and wonder. When he had left the halfling to face almost certain death, he had been more concerned by the fact that Smaug was a large, fire-breathing, possibly still alive dragon, and Bilbo was very, very small. A whole host of dwarves had not been able to slay the beast and now they were sending a hobbit, their hobbit, into the snake pit?

He had never actually believed Bilbo would find the Arkenstone.

He is a burglar after all, Balin thought. And a lot more besides.

"That stone crowns all," he said aloud. "It is the summit of this great wealth, bestowing power upon he who wears it. Will it stay his madness? No, laddie. I fear it would make it worse. Perhaps it is best if it remains lost." He raised his eyebrows just slightly, hoping to convey everything in his heart and more through the tiniest gesture.

Bilbo frowned and was silent for a long time, and though everything was undeniably grim, Balin felt comforted. Not just in the realization that someone else understood- truly understood- the seriousness of Thorin's sickness, but that that someone was Mister Baggins. Brave, kind, clever Bilbo Baggins.

"Bilbo, my lad," Balin said, but his throat choked up with a sudden flood of emotion. He swallowed hard. "I am so sorry that we have brought you to such peril. We had no right."

Bilbo looked at him then, and his expression was at once sad and calm and wise. "You didn't bring me, Balin," he said. "I brought myself. It was entirely my decision, in the end. And that's how far I'm willing to go. I will follow you all to the end."

Balin's face twisted with anguish.

We had no right.

He could not speak, however, even if he wanted to, so he yanked the hobbit into a rough embrace and said not a word.

"We'll get through this, Balin," Bilbo whispered. "I'll make sure of it."


	11. Kili

Kili would always and forever be convinced that hobbits (or at least their hobbit) were constructed completely of light. In happiness, Bilbo was the bright, bursting rays of the sun, in despair he was the gleaming sword-flash of the moon, and always, always, he was the light of the stars. Precious and pure.

So when Kili looked over and saw Mister Bilbo Baggins wearing mithril, his first thought was not that he looked absurd or ridiculous or un-Baggins-like, or any of the other conclusions the silly hobbit himself was probably drawing.

The halfling was sheathed in starlight. How could he possibly look absurd?

It looks as though it was woven just for him, Kili thought, strangely dizzy. How can something so delicate look so unbreakable?

But he was breakable. Sometimes it was easy to forget with everything else they had survived together. But this was war, something hobbits knew nothing about. It was one thing for Thorin to force himself and the other dwarves into battle, they had been trained for it. But to do this to Bilbo? Kili was suddenly filled with a powerful rage that was just barely kept in check by fear. Thorin had become so unpredictable as of late. No one wanted to test him.

Later that night, Kili found Bilbo sitting alone in a separate chamber, staring intently at his dagger as though waiting for it to tell him all the secrets of the world. Kili smiled.

"If you stare at it long enough it will start looking back," he said.

"Am I to believe this from the dwarf who warned me about throat-cutters in the night?" Bilbo said without looking up.

"And there were throat-cutters, weren't there?" Kili replied, sitting across from the hobbit, who still did not look up but continued to examine the dagger.

"You know, your sword has seen battle now," Kili continued in an effort to draw Bilbo from his concentration. "You can finally give it a name."

Bilbo smiled a little. "Oh, uh, actually I already did," he said.

"Really? Well, let's hear it then!"

Bilbo looked up then, and his eyes glittered like torches. "Sting," he said. "Its name is Sting."

"Like a bee," Kili replied, grinning. "That's very fitting, Master Boggins. When did you name it?"

"In Mirkwood, fighting the spiders."

"You are full of surprises, pîn gîl."

Bilbo cocked his head. "That doesn't sound like Khudzul," he said slowly. Knowingly. "More like Elvish, if you ask me."

Immediately Kili became flustered. He hadn't meant to speak in Elvish, it had just come out. And judging from the look on the hobbit's face he knew very well why.

"I thought all you dwarves despised elves," he said slyly.

"Well…you know, they're not all bad!"

"Not the elf maidens, you mean."

Kili glared flatly at the hobbit, who at this point was trying hard not to laugh. "That's enough, Master Baggins," he growled.

Bilbo's eyes widened. "You know my real name."

"Of course I do. But you don't think I'd pass up any opportunity to irritate our fussy little burglar, do you? Now come on." Kili got to his feet and tried not to think of the elf maiden he'd left behind.

"Come on…?"

"It's still early. And you need to get some more practice in while you can," the dwarf said. Then he grinned challengingly at the hobbit. "Let's see if Sting really lives up to its name."

So they practiced for a few hours, and though Bilbo was not an equal match for Kili he was still quite proud of how far the halfling had come. As the night wore on, however, he noticed that Bilbo was becoming rather restless. After the third time knocking him to his feet, Kili stopped.

"What are you thinking, Master Boggins?"

For a moment, Bilbo looked startled, perhaps even afraid, but it was gone so quickly Kili couldn't be sure.

"I, uh, just remembered I was supposed to be the night watch. So I'll just be going then-"

"Bombur's on watch tonight," Kili said with a frown.

"O-oh, is he? Well, silly me. Still, I should be off. Big day tomorrow, you know. Need to rest up."

"Yes, I suppose you're right…"

"Thank you, Kili. For your help."

The hobbit paused, and there was something almost like anguish in his eyes. Then he shook his head and forced a smile that Kili didn't believe.

"Goodnight, Kili."

"Goodnight, Bilbo."


	12. Fili

Fili saw Bilbo sneak out that night, past Bombur who had fallen asleep, to the edge of the Gate. He watched him tie off the rope and scale down the side, at one point slipping clumsily and scaring Fili half to death.

Where are you going, Bilbo? he wondered, and for a moment he considered following him. But if someone were to see him coming back…

What if Thorin saw him coming back?

He didn't know what the hobbit was up to, but if he had to sneak around it probably wasn't something that would go over well with their king. So Fili made himself comfortable and kept watch for both of them.

It was about an hour before dawn when the hobbit returned, scrambling as fast as he could up the rope. Quickly, Fili took hold of his end and started pulling him up.

"Stop squirming around!" he hissed.

Bilbo flashed him a look of terror. "Fili!" he gasped. "What are you doing?"

"I plan on asking you the same thing, now hold still."

Bilbo grew still and allowed the dwarf to lift him onto the ledge. As soon as the hobbit was safely back on the Gate, Fili grasped his shoulders and shook him.

"What are you thinking? Uncle will have your skin if he catches you…"

He trailed off, giving Bilbo the chance to fill the blank. The hobbit bit his lip. His eyes flickered indecisively, and then there came the sound of Thorin's voice from inside the kingdom. Fili met Bilbo's anxious gaze and something undefinable passed between them.

"Look," the dwarf said. "I'm not going to pretend I know what you were doing out there, but I'll be willing to bet that Thorin won't approve-"

"Please, Fili, don't tell him just yet," Bilbo said. "I have a plan, I really do, but don't tell him."

"I was never going to tell him."

The hobbit blinked in shock. "Really?"

Fili shook his head. "Master Baggins, do you not understand what you mean to this Company? I love my Uncle, but…"

That same undefinable something crackled in the space between them, and Fili was suddenly overcome by grief. Thorin was determined that there would be war and yet Bilbo was still there, doing all he could for them.

"I trust you with my life, Bilbo. And if you say you have a plan, then I believe you. But whatever you're up to, I don't think I envy your position."

Bilbo barked out a laugh. "I certainly don't."

Fili smiled tightly and swept the hobbit into his arms. He wanted to tell Bilbo how he felt, how they all felt. That they loved him. But the words stuck in his throat. As it was, he thought it particularly loudly.

And then they were swept up in the rush of preparing for war, and listening to Thorin's suspicious mutterings, and there wasn't any more time to say the things they were thinking particularly loudly.

To his dying day, that would forever be the thing Fili regretted most. Those unspoken words sat like a poisoned well in the deepest part of his heart.


	13. Thorin

Thorin knew damn well he'd never done anything good enough to deserve the halfling. There were not enough empires in Middle Earth and not enough gold in the universe to even it out, to make things fair.

Life was unfair. Life was a bloody struggle. He thought he knew that very well after the dragon drove them from their home, but that would turn out to be the least of the horrors he would see in his lifetime.

He kept many memories of the hobbit out in the open, as if by exposing his heart to open flame it would somehow soothe providence.

They never let him rest.

There were times, of course, when his senses would dull to nothing and he wouldn't think of anything. His mind needed these reset moments to accommodate the pain. But once it passed he was right back to where he'd started.

Balin and Oin tried to talk to him many times but he sent them away. Still he saw them casting furtive glances in his direction, whispering things about cycles of grief and masochism. He ignored it. There was nothing they could say, nothing that could alleviate the guilt. How could they understand anyway? They held none of it. He carried all the weight.

Of all the memories he carried, however, it was neither the good ones- his forgiveness at the eyrie, the halfling's excitement at figuring out the moon riddle- nor even the bad ones- sending the burglar into the dragon's lair alone, the whiplash of murderous rage at the Gate- that occupied the most space in his mind.

No, no matter how many times he closed his eyes, no matter how many sleepless nights, he could not escape Ravenhill.

He and Dwalin had just dispatched the last of the goblin mercenaries when Bilbo appeared seemingly from thin air, frantic and out of breath.

"Thorin."

"Bilbo," Thorin said, overcome with a melee of emotion, but before he could even think to sort through any of it the hobbit began to talk in a rush.

"You have to leave here now," he puffed. "Azog has another army attacking from the north. This watchtower will be completely surrounded, there'll be no way out."

A cold finger of dread drew a line down Thorin's spine. Dwalin, however, seemed more motivated than ever by this news.

"We are so close," he growled. "That orc scum is in there. I say we push on-"

"No," Thorin said, pressing his hand to the warrior's chest. "That's what he wants. He wants to draw us in. This is a trap."

He and Dwalin both looked up at Ravenhill, where Fili and Kili had disappeared, and the dread grew until it filled Thorin's stomach.

"We have to fetch them back. Now."

"Thorin, wait!" Bilbo exclaimed. "What…do you mean to tell me Fili and Kili are up there?"

Thorin only barely managed to swallow back his panic. "Yes," he said. Then he grabbed the hobbit roughly by the shoulder. "You go back. Find Gandalf and stay with him, do you understand?"

"No!" Bilbo yanked out of the dwarf's grip, looking quite outraged. "I'm with you, Thorin."

"Dammit, you infuriating halfling, do as I say!" the dwarf thundered. "Do you want to get yourself killed?"

Bilbo ignored him. "We can't waste any more time," he said, and with a silvery schling! he drew his dagger from its scabbard and glared at Thorin with almost dwarfish stubbornness. If he wasn't so terrified, Thorin might have been proud.

"Thorin, come on!" Dwalin urged.

And so with terror biting at his heels, Thorin took off across the ice for Ravenhill, pursued closely by Bilbo and Dwalin.

They were met halfway up the rocky outcropping by a band of snarling orcs and fell into battle at once. The dwarves did their best to shield their hobbit as much as possible, but Bilbo held his own far better than either of them expected. He was still no warrior, but his heart was fierce.

They met up with Fili and Kili in the tunnels that wove beneath the hill. The brothers were on the losing edge of a battle with Azog's soldiers, and they looked upon the three newcomers with the utmost relief as the tides turned.

The five of them managed to drive the orcs from the tunnels and out into the open, where they were joined by two elves, one of which Kili seemed to be acquainted with. The battle was ferocious and in the confusion of it all, Thorin found himself on the ice again, separated from the others.

His heart turned as brittle and cold as the river beneath his feet at the sight of Azog himself standing a few yards distant. At least ten other orcs were surging toward him, with another ten circled loosely around their leader, but Thorin's aim was fixed. Driven by cold fury, he started battling his way toward the Pale Orc.

He might have made it without incident if another twenty hadn't been waiting in the shadow of the hill. As he fought his way steadily closer, they rushed in from the left. He turned to fight, but they overwhelmed him quickly. Over the fray, infuriatingly close, came the dark, triumphant chuckle of the Pale Orc as his warriors closed in for the kill.

Bilbo came out of nowhere, as per usual. His sword flashed like winter moonlight as he ducked and dodged his way to Thorin's side. His blood-spattered face was twisted in a fearsome snarl that would have made Dwalin proud.

What are you doing?! Thorin wanted to shout. If only your brain were the size of your ridiculously furry feet! But he clamped his mouth shut and fought harder, sticking as close as possible to the reckless halfling.

Soon, impossibly, Azog was the only orc left standing, his face contorted in a mask of disbelief and fury. Thorin stepped forward and Bilbo shadowed him, so close their shoulders brushed.

"No," Thorin said immediately.

Bilbo glared, eyes blazing. "You are my king by choice, not by command, you stupid prat."

In spite of everything, it took every ounce of Thorin's willpower not to smile.

They turned resolutely to face the Pale Orc together.

If asked to replay in detail that final fight between himself, his burglar and their relentless tormentor, Thorin would not have been able to. Everything became a snowy-white blur as he twisted and danced in and out of reach of his enemy, Bilbo loyally at his side. The moment only became vividly, vengefully clear when the Pale Orc swiped Thorin's feet out from under him and grabbed him by the throat.

The triumphant gleam in the orc's unnerving, ice-pale eyes was enough to boil Thorin's blood. But his body was weak, and the air was draining steadily from his lungs, and he knew as Azog raised his sword-arm that he had only seconds left.

Quick as a bee, Bilbo came up from behind and delivered a powerful slash to Azog's shoulder. With a furious growl, the orc dropped the dwarf king and turned. Though his eyes were clouded with tears, Thorin saw everything.

The Pale Orc's sword-arm whirled around in a low arc, flashing in the light from the rising sun, and cut cleanly through Bilbo's throat. Blood showered the river, steaming on the ice. The hobbit blinked in genuine surprise before collapsing where he stood.

"NO!" Thorin roared. Blind with rage, he drove Orcrist right into Azog's back and through his heart.

The Pale Orc fell, but suddenly it mattered very little. Thorin scrambled madly over to Bilbo, who lay gasping and gurgling as sheets of red cascaded from his throat.

"Bilbo, Bilbo, no," Thorin breathed, too shocked, too horrified, to raise his voice above a whisper. Hopelessly he pressed his hands to the wound, but the blood gushed between his fingers and there was nothing, nothing, he could do.

"Oh, Bilbo," Thorin wept. Gingerly he touched his reddened hands to Bilbo's face. The hobbit's eyes reeled sightlessly for a moment before landing on the dwarf king.

He moved his mouth to speak, but nothing came out save a flood of blood. Thorin's stomach twisted into a tight knot.

Shadows began to flicker above them, but Thorin only became aware of them when Bilbo's eyes drifted to something just past his shoulder. His eyes came alight again with that wonder, that spark of hope the hobbit carried with him, and as he moved his mouth again Thorin thought he caught one word.

"Eagles…"

The Eagles are coming, Thorin thought. But they were too late. They had failed to save the most precious thing on the battlefield. The most precious thing in Middle Earth.

Suddenly, Bilbo grasped his hand with surprising strength and slipped something into his palm. It was smooth and round and Thorin knew at once what it was.

And then he was gone.

Gone.

Thorin stayed by his side and wept, doubled over with the force of his grief. He barely noticed when the rest of the Company trickled over to kneel in a circle around their burglar, heads bowed by the weight of their agony and disbelief.

It was lifetimes before he could open his palm and look at the tiny, undamaged acorn in his hand.

~v~

They buried him on the doorstep of the mountain, close to the Gate where he had bargained for their life. Most of the dwarves maintained that this was most appropriate- from here he would guard over all of Erebor, as he had guarded their Company on their long journey home.

He was buried with Sting at his side and the Arkenstone tucked under his hands atop his breast. Almost none of the dwarves in the kingdom condoned this incongruous act, but in the wake of such gruesome warfare no one openly opposed it. Only the dwarves of the Company understood. If anyone was deserving of the king's jewel, it was the little hobbit who had never wanted it in the first place. Thorin couldn't bear to look at it anyway.

Just before they were to bury him, Thorin knelt by the grave and took one last look at the face he would never see again. Never again would the hobbit storm off in a huff at something his nephews had said. Never again would a smile light his face like dawn breaking over the horizon. Never again would he surprise them with a sudden burst of courage. These thoughts tore at him like a thousand armies.

"Goodbye, Master Burglar," he whispered. Then he held his hand over the grave and let go of the acorn.

Weeks passed in a daze. Thorin was the king. Erebor was restored, and there was finally peace between dwarves, men and elves. But he could not bring himself to be happy. He was plagued by the blood on his hands, plagued by all the words he had never spoken and would never have the chance to speak again.

And then one day, while Thorin lay curled in his bed (for the past several days he had been testing his limits, seeing how long he could stay in his room before someone accused him of shirking his kingly duties) his nephews burst haphazardly into his room.

He was surprised by their faces. Like the rest of the Company, theirs had been dulled by grief since Bilbo's death. Now suddenly they were blazing with excitement.

"Uncle, you have to come and see this!" Kili exclaimed.

Thorin frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"Wrong? No, something is absolutely right, you have to see!"

Without waiting for his reply, the two brothers seized their uncle's arms and dragged him out of bed. Normally this would have been met with a sharp rebuke but Thorin didn't think he had anymore sharp rebukes in him.

He felt the first spark of genuine curiosity when he saw the rest of the dwarves of the Company gathered at Bilbo's grave. And then as he drew closer, he saw it.

The tiny green shoot was no more than a fledgling, but its leaves were vibrant and it clearly was a strong little thing, elsewise it wouldn't have sprouted through such unfriendly terrain.

Everyone waited, breathless, for their leader's reaction. After a moment, all the strength drained from his legs and he sank to his knees.

Songs were sung that night. The thirteen dwarves from the original Company gathered together at the Gate, looking down at their burglar's grave, and they sang, and even though none of them were songbirds it made them feel as though there was a light again. A light at the end of the path.

"Home is behind, the world ahead,

And there are many paths to tread

Through shadows to the edge of night,

Until the stars are all alight.

Then world behind and home ahead,

We'll wander back to home and bed."


	14. Êldae

Êldae's very first memory was of sitting on great-uncle Thorin's lap as the king sang him a lullaby. It had been translated into Khudzul years and years ago, and the words were like thick, rumbling storm clouds far off in the distance.

He was too young to remember just how young he was, but he remembered how absolutely tranquil he felt. And he remembered the tears, though for the longest time he convinced himself it hadn't really happened.

Thorin didn't cry. Thorin was…Thorin.

It took years to look past his hero worship to realize that Thorin was just a dwarf, like everyone else. By then he knew what the song meant.

~v~

Êldae had twelve guardians in addition to his mother and father. He loved all of them very much but sometimes he noticed they looked at him strangely. Of course whenever he noticed, they were quick to hide what was a most peculiar mix of anguish and joy.

He was used to strange looks, of course. Being the prince's son didn't stop people from staring. He had his father's stature and mischievous brown eyes, but his mother's reddish hair and pointed ears.

Of course it wasn't just his hair- which wasn't unusual in color (although it was unruly, to the everlasting despair of his mother). Nor was it exactly his name, which was not properly dwarvish, or his skin, which was much too soft. Mainly- ridiculously- it was the ears. Many of the dwarves of Erebor still did not approve of Kili's relationship with Tauriel.

However, seeing as Êldae's twelve guardians supported anything that made Kili happy (even an elf maiden), Êldae couldn't figure out why they had any reason to look at him differently.

The first time he really started noticing these puzzling occurrences was when he made Thorin a pipe on the Anniversary of the Battle. He was young at the time, but he wasn't completely oblivious- Thorin was never himself on the Anniversary. Often he could be found ruminating under the oak tree at the base of the mountain. Sometimes one or two of Êldae's other guardians would join him, but mostly they left him to his thoughts.

So one year, he took a branch from the tree and whittled it into a pipe, using one of its acorns as the bowl. Then when Thorin had taken up his vigil under the oak, Êldae presented it to him shyly.

Thorin stared at him, bemused and silent, so Êldae said, "I, um, made it from this tree. I wanted it to be really special."

The king blinked. "Has…anyone told you why it's so special?"

"Well…of course. Everyone knows. This tree symbolizes all those who died valiantly in the Battle…"

Êldae trailed off, confused by the small, sad smile on Thorin's face. Of course Thorin would grieve for the dead. Êldae, along with the whole of Middle Earth, knew the role he'd played in the Battle- both for good and for greed. But there was something different about the look on his face, something painfully intimate…

"Thank you, Êldae," Thorin murmured. "Why don't you go and find your father. Archery today, isn't it?"

Êldae dipped his head and mumbled a goodbye, brimming with questions he wasn't quite willing to ask. But he couldn't get Thorin's expression out of his mind, that strange…nostalgia. And when he saw it on his own father's face that very same day, he realized he had something to look out for.

Êldae had always been superb at target practice, something he automatically dismissed as the result of having two archers as parents. But up until that day he had never shot at moving targets, and he couldn't help feeling surprised when he hit every clay disc thrown.

After a beat of silence, someone behind him started clapping and then several others joined in. Some of his guardians had come to watch- Fili, Ori, Bombur and Balin- and all were wearing similar expressions of cautious disbelief.

"Well done, laddie," Balin said, forcing a smile. "No doubt there's archery in your blood."

Fili and Bombur nodded, though they exchanged furtive glances. Ori said nothing, scribbling madly away in his sketchbook.

Am I so different from the other dwarves? Êldae wondered anxiously. For the first time he felt uncomfortable about his heritage.

Over the next few months, he was rigidly aware of how his guardians treated him. Like the deafening silence after he sang at dinner one night, or the way Gloin and Dwalin shook their heads at his hairless face.

"Has anyone checked his feet?" he heard Nori whisper one night, which abruptly brought him up short. He tiptoed closer to the room in which they had all gathered and leaned in to listen.

What did his feet have to do with anything? Perhaps there was a disease that kept a dwarf from growing hair like he should and it… What? Was his feet's fault? He grimaced and shook his head and told himself not to be ridiculous.

"Don't say that, Nori," Dori scolded.

"Why not? We're all thinking the same thing, it's not like it's some big secret."

"Oh, yes? And what are we thinking, laddie?" Gloin growled.

"Don't say it," Ori piped up in a small voice. "I can't stand it."

"Why?" Nori said. "Why is everyone acting as though it's a bad thing?"

"It's an impossible thing, lad," Dwalin said. "Fairy stuff."

Fairy stuff? Êldae thought, at this point completely and utterly baffled.

"We shouldn't be talking about it at all," Ori said. "What if Thorin heard?"

"I guarantee you Thorin noticed the similarities before the rest of us," Nori replied.

Similarities?

"Well, that may be, but all it comes down to is parentage," Dori said. "He has the hairless features of an elf and the height of a dwarf, and that's all it is."

"Don't forget the ears," Nori muttered stubbornly. "Pointed as dagger blades, those."

"And his aim!" Bombur added.

"Both from his mother's side," Oin said irritably.

"What about his singing?" Bofur, who had remained strangely silent till now, interjected.

"He has an Elvish voice. Nothing to get worked up about."

Slowly Êldae backed away, unable to decide if the buzzing in his stomach was curiosity and apprehension. This clearly went beyond heritage, but most of the dwarves seemed aggressive in their denial of this.

Well, I can't go on not knowing any longer, he thought determinedly.

So the next day he approached Nori and Ori in their chamber, relieved to see that Dori was absent.

"Hello, Master Êldae," Ori said cheerfully. Nori grunted noncommittally from where he lay in his bed, smoking his pipe pensively.

"Hello, Ori, Nori," Êldae said, suddenly nervous.

Don't be a coward, he thought. You deserve answers.

"Um, I was wondering…that is… I heard you all last night. Talking about…well, about the things that set me apart from the other dwarves."

Both Nori and Ori had frozen. Ori's eyes were wide with horror. His brother regarded Êldae with sudden interest.

"You heard us?" Ori whispered.

"Yes," Êldae replied. "And I want to know why my differences trouble you."

"Oh, um…perhaps you should ask someone else…"

"Don't be such a prat, Ori," Nori said. "He has a right to know."

"But-"

"Show him the pictures."

Êldae blinked. "What pictures?" he asked.

Both dwarves ignored him. Ori shot Nori a pained look, but the older dwarf glared back sternly. With a last uneasy glance at Êldae, Ori scuttled to the chest at the foot of his bed and began rooting around inside.

After a moment, Nori said, "Stop dallying, you keep them right on top."

Ori scowled at his brother. "Stop snooping through my things."

"Get a better lock."

Muttering under his breath, Ori pulled out a stack of papers. Then he looked at Êldae, and Êldae was bewildered by the tears in his eyes.

"Master Êldae," he said. "Your father would skin us alive if he knew…"

Êldae nodded silently, breathless with anticipation. Reluctantly, Ori handed him the papers.

He stared at them for a long time, at first convinced they were playing some kind of joke on him. This was him!

But…no. This him was older, with big feet covered in fur. His clothing was strange, as well. Definitely not dwarvish…

"The burglar," Êldae whispered. "The Heart of the Mountain."

He knew who Bilbo Baggins was, of course. Everyone in Erebor knew of the hobbit burglar who had helped them win back the mountain. But that was as far as his knowledge extended. The dwarves of the Company who had journeyed with the halfling remained curiously silent on the matter, save to say that he was a magnificent burglar and the dearest of all friends.

Never had they shared any stories of him. Never had they explained what he was like. Certainly they had never shown him a picture of the burglar.

This was obviously the reason why.

It was eerie how much they looked like each other. It made Êldae's brain feel fluffy.

"I look like…" But he couldn't bring himself to say it. Though he knew next to nothing about the dwarves' hobbit, it was clear by the way they said his name that the Company revered him. Loved him. How could he ever compare himself to the Heart of the Mountain?

Nori nodded solemnly. "Aye," he said. "The spitting image."

"But that's not all," Êldae murmured slowly.

"No…" Nori paused to glance at his brother, who was nearly quivering with anxiety, and added, "But perhaps this is all you need to know."

Êldae opened his mouth to protest, but the older dwarf shot him a warning look. Stifling a sigh, he handed the drawings back to Ori.

"Thank you," he said. "I promise I won't tell."

Technically, he kept his promise. He never mentioned Ori or Nori or the pictures to anyone. And no one had told him he couldn't talk to his mother.

"There's something on your mind, a'mael," she said that night. He had come to her chambers under the pretense that the lone braid he wore- the Durinsbraid, which symbolized his royal bloodline- had come loose and he needed her to tighten it. Of course, this wasn't true, and she knew it immediately even before she laid eyes on the plait in question.

Well, no sense beating around the bush. "Yes," he replied. "I want to ask you something but I need you to promise you won't tell Dad. At least, not yet."

Tauriel smiled conspiratorially. "You didn't hide Nori's pipe weed again, did you?"

Êldae grimaced. "No. And tell Uncle Fili to stop blaming me for his little pranks."

"Of course, how silly of me."

He wondered if his mother had always had that mischievous twinkle in her eyes, or if she'd simply adopted it from his father.

"Look, I…I know how Dad and Uncle Fili and the other dwarves- the Company dwarves- see me," Êldae said. His mother stiffened immediately, though her expression remained perfectly smooth. "I remind them of the hobbit."

Tauriel hesitated but Êldae stared unflinchingly at her, hoping he looked bolder than he felt. Finally she sighed and motioned for him to sit next to her on the bed. He obeyed.

"What would you like to know?" she asked.

"Why? What about me reminds them…"

"Well, for one, henig, you look an awful lot like him," she said, touching his cheek gently.

"So you met him?" Êldae asked.

"Not properly. I fought beside him briefly in the Battle."

"So he did fight?"

"Oh, yes. Bravest halfling of our time, I expect."

Êldae sat quietly for a moment before daring to ask, "But that's not all, is it?" He didn't expect her to answer. In any case, he wasn't sure he needed her to. Suddenly all the strange looks were falling into place, crystalizing before his eyes.

"No. It's not."

"Is that why…" He paused to swallow the strange lump in his throat and continued. "Is that why they're scared to admit it? That I remind them?"

"I imagine so."

Of course. Because dwarves do not believe in reincarnation.

But what if hobbits do?

Suddenly his head was feeling fluffy again. Sensing his distress, Tauriel smiled. "I'll tell you a story about him if you like."

Êldae blinked, momentarily distracted. "I thought you never properly met him."

"But your father did. And I was actually there for this particular memory," she said. "Would you like to hear it?"

He nodded eagerly and listened as his mother began.

"It was only supposed to be a routine sweep along our borders of Mirkwood. The spiders of Dol Guldur had grown fiercer and darker, and we were expecting to find them lurking about. We weren't, however, expecting a band of thirteen dwarves and one incidentally invisible hobbit…"

Êldae hung on every word as his mother described the battle with the spiders, the capturing of the Company, and her very first meeting with his father. He was absolutely riveted as she described Kili's memory of Bilbo appearing at his cell door with a stolen ring of keys, leading them down into the cellars and smuggling them out of the kingdom in a bevy of barrels.

"…and from there they rode the river to Lake-town," Tauriel concluded.

"They never would have reached the mountain without him, would they?" Êldae said.

His mother tried and failed not to laugh. "Perhaps not," she said. "But now I think it's time you were off to bed."

Eldae nodded and got to his feet. "Thank you for the story. Do you think I could maybe hear some more?"

"Maybe your father could share a few."

"But-"

"At some point you are going to have to tell him that you know," Tauriel said firmly, and Êldae knew she was right.

"Yes, I suppose."

Her expression softened. "Just tell him that I told you. Your father can be mad at me if it pleases him."

Êldae smiled a little. "Thank you."

"Ollo vae, henig."

"Losto vae, Nana. I'll tell him soon."

And he would. But there was someone else he had to tell first.

~v~

A few nights later, he found Thorin sitting beneath the tree with the oaken pipe Êldae had fashioned for him. Ever since his conversation with his mother he'd spent the time thinking on all that he had learned, and although he hadn't yet come to a decision about any of it, he had come to an acceptance.

Thorin raised an eyebrow as Êldae took a seat next to him. "And what can I do for you, Master Êldae?" he asked.

Êldae met his gaze squarely and said, "When you look at me, you see Bilbo Baggins."

The king all but shuddered with bewilderment. It was the first time Êldae had ever seen him truly surprised. Taking a deep breath, he continued.

"You see him in my ears and my skin and the way I never miss a target. You hear him in my voice when I sing. And…sometimes you can't bear to look at me. And I want to tell you that it's okay because…well, because no matter whyor howI'm like him, it means something. I…I believe that. And I'm not saying that I'm anything special like him, but maybe it was supposed to happen this way…"

Êldae trailed off, flushed with embarrassment as what had started out as a well-executed confession turned into a babbling monologue. But Thorin was smiling now, and there was joy and grief and amazement in that smile.

"You are just like him," he murmured, so low Êldae could barely make out the words. "Mahal bless me…"

Êldae blushed. "Um…well, my mother told me a story about him. And I was wondering, since I don't really know all that much about him that maybe…"

"What story did she tell you?"

"Well, it was actually my father's memory. She told me about how Mister Baggins rescued you all from the Elven prison."

Thorin laughed, startling his great-nephew. "An impressive tale, if there ever was one," he said.

"Thorin? What's your favorite memory of the hobbit?"

The king blinked, as though waking from a daydream. "Favorite?" he repeated. Êldae nodded. Thorin was silent for a long while, brows furrowed in deep thought. And then he smiled.

"One day, not long before the Battle, I approached our burglar. I was…" He paused to flicker a guilty glance in Êldae's direction. "Well, I was searching for the Arkenstone and I thought I saw him carrying it. He very well might have been, but of course he didn't admit to it, and rightly so. No, it's not the Arkenstone he's carrying, no jewel of any kind, nor even gold. Instead, he smiles at me and holds out an acorn…"


End file.
